Unrequited
by SociallyObscene
Summary: Fang Walker is Maximum Ride's bully, and he doesn't even know it. Impulsive, he decides that the best thing is to talk as little as possible, but his filter doesn't seem to turn on around Max. Fang can't help the way he feels about her, but he knows that there's no way that she feels the same way - especially with her boyfriend, Dylan, in the way. How is Fang supposed to compete?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey! It's SociallyObscene! I realized that I was in the mood for some Max and Fang drama, so I kind of whipped this thing up not knowing where it was going to end up. I'm not quite sure what I think of it yet, but I'm excited to see what happens!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, Maximum Ride isn't mine. Sorry. I wish.**

* * *

I can't get her out of my head.

There's no other explanation. I've tried so hard to forget her, so _fucking hard, _but she's there. She's right there, in the center of my vision, dancing before my eyes and telling me that she's not going anywhere.

I'm sick and I'm tired and I'm out of breath. There's not a single thing that I can do to remove my feelings about the whole situation, and my chest aches in discomfort from giving too many feelings their own way.

Maximum Ride does _not _need to know the way I feel about her. She wouldn't accept it anyway. I've only been an asshole to her, and there's nothing that I can do to change the way she feels about me now. I've made an imprint on her mind, one that I'm ashamed of, one that crushed her brain into a flat disc and ruined all of the potential I had for just about five fucking seconds before I ruined it all.

It's obvious that I'm being dramatic. I know that it's true. There's just so many things that I've wanted to say to her but couldn't - no, didn't _want _to - say for fear that it would be over right on the spot, just a bit after I said something. I need to conquer my words, to rise above impulsivity that bites at me every time someone says something.

I'm impulsive. I'm rash, radical, and everything that comes with annoyance. There's not a single person that could ever pick that up, though, because if I'm only going to say stupid and idiotic things to excuse myself from my own personal embarrassment, then I might as well not talk at all.

Or as little as I can.

"Maximum Ride! You fucking bitch!" I call out. Fuck. No. How embarrassing. I turn around just as Max lifts her head up, looking around to find the mouth in which the words came from. _Please don't recognize my voice, _I think, turning in the opposite direction and going down the hall, beating against the current of students and their heavy backpacks. Lunch traffic couldn't possibly be worse.

I settle down at the staircase that leads to the auditorium, sliding my bag off my shoulder and sitting in the corner. I'm sure that this is someone's seat, I'm just too pissed off to give a damn.

"I guess I'm not eating lunch," I whisper to myself, resting my hands on my knees while watching the students shamble to the lunch room. My stomach groans in protest of my comment, but I don't care. I don't care about anything but the seething pain in my head while I try not to punch the brick walls of the school.

Maximum Ride finally took revenge on me. Sure, I deserved it, but it was completely uncalled for her to tell my mom that we were dating, grab the spare keys to my Buick from my room, and _total my car. _Ever since then, my mom asks me all about her, as if I give a shit. "Oh, how is that Maxine? She's a real sweetheart, Nicholas, you picked a keeper!"

Hell no.

Besides, Max already has a boyfriend, a perfect guy named Dylan. He's the captain of the football **(AN: Soccer in the states) **team, wears khakis, and is on the honor roll. A goody-two-shoes that I sure as hell can't beat.

"Hey, asshole, is that you?" I hear her say. _Can't I get a little break? _I think, preparing to swing my backpack onto my shoulder again and go to Mr. Koetteritz's room. I stand, sifting a hand through my hair and making my way down to the ramp while avoiding the stampede of students, acting as if I didn't hear her.

"Fang! I hear her say, her voice not too far behind me. "Fang!" she repeats again. I only go faster.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Ride," I sputter, trying to get words. This was not exactly how I imagined Max coming to talk to me.

My feet carry me to the Commons, a large circular room infested with banners from different countries and winding halls, like the body of a spider. The library, guidance office, and main office wrap around the walls of the Commons along with the gym, and I can't decide if I want to go into any of them with the risk of a teacher asking me why I'm not at lunch or not in class.

Inside the heart of the commons is the Pit. The Pit is a lowered area in the floor of the Commons, a maroon stone floor with tiled blocks that almost gate it. It's the place to hang out, I suppose, but hardly anyone is there unless it's the morning and students are waiting for the bell.

Before I can make my way to the Pit, her hand wraps around my wrist. Her touch is white hot, almost burning, and my heartbeat is in my ears, an erratic thump that doesn't seem to stop. In all actuality, however, her hands are frigid, frozen against my arm, but I can only feel the fire from her touch.

I fucking hate how it's like this.

"Look at me," she says, and it's almost like a command. I want so desperately to turn around and stare at her beautiful face, but I want even more for her to feel the irritation that I felt when my car got totaled. "Please, Fang. Just look at me."

I can't help it. I want to see her. Slowly, I turn my body. She doesn't take her grip off of my wrist.

I raise my eyebrows at her, asking her a silent question of _what do you want? _Her eyes are burning to life, honey swirling her pupil around in dashing adventure.

"Was that you?" she hisses, roughly taking her hand away.

"Was what me?" I just can't help but love the way her hair frames her angry expression.

"Oh, don't you fucking play games with me, Fang." She sucks in a breath. "Why did you call me that? I'm not going to allow myself to be put into the position of a victim anymore, and it's _definitely _not okay for you to do that to me."

"You totaled my car," I say, not breaking my impassive stare. I can tell how much she hates it. How much she wants to see me angry at her, showing some sort of emotion that is only ever unleashed when I'm picking on her.

"You deserved it!"

"Look, I know that I'm a total asshole to you, Ride, but there's no reason for you to total my fucking car. It was a lousy piece of shit when I found it, and I revived it to the point of where I _liked _it. I spent weeks on that car."

She smirks. "Great," she looks me dead in the eye, "now you can spend _months _working at the City Market just trying to get it repaired."

I don't know why, but that set it off. I wanted so much to be able to control my filter in that moment, to control the impulsivity that rages inside my chest, but I can't. For some reason, I can't help but say what I'm thinking to Max, and that's dangerous. It's really dangerous. My insides roll over on hot coals.

I take a step forward, precariously close to her face. At this distance I notice all the things that I could never notice from the distance I usually stay at. The spray of freckles that sit on the bridge of her nose, the green flecks in her honey eyes, the way parts of her hair cascade from her face violently without warning. _Fuck, she's beautiful._

"_Who the fuck do you think you are?" _I demand, my head pounding. I could almost feel the steam coming from my ears. For once, Max looks truly scared of me. "I _slaved _over that car for weeks on end and you decide that it's okay to _total _it when it's fucking not-"

"Are you saying that it's not okay for me to retaliate when all you've ever done to me since I moved here two years ago is pick on me? Tease me? Bully me?"

"Aren't you being a bit dramatic?" I ask, but I'm shocked on the inside. There's no way that I had intentionally tried to _bully _Max, and there's no way that was what she took it for, was it? "Tell it to Dylan." The words are a sour in my mouth. I don't think she even heard me.

"Oh, so you telling me that I was worthless, _disposable, _was basically an invitation to be friends?" She scoffed. "I'm sorry, I must have missed that one."

Our close proximity makes my face heat up even more than it already would. I turn away from her, not being able to comprehend the enormity of my decisions. Did I really do that? I can't believe myself. I'm such a fucking idiot.

"I'm not done talking to you, Fang," she says dangerously, her tone biting at me. I flinch, and she must notice, because I can almost see the glint in her eyes of guilt, thinking _have I gone too far? _

"What," I say. It's not even a question anymore. I'm just done being an asshole. I'm done unintentionally making people feel bad. "Tell me what you need to tell me. I'm done. I won't ever talk to you again after this, I promise."

Max gulps, almost regretful, vengeful. Like she had done something horrible to get me to the point of surrender, when all I have ever done was fight, fight, _fight. _And when I couldn't fight anymore, stand up and bite with words. She can see that. She's known it for so long.

I can't believe I didn't even notice the point in which I was doing those things to her. There's no way I can bring myself to use the crutch of "impulsive" anymore. I need to control myself. I can't talk at all, now. Not without hurting someone.

"Forget it." I look up from my hands, but I can't bring myself to look at her honey eyes, with the underlying tone of hatred in them, the kind of hatred that's been brewing for so long that it doesn't know what else to do once it's gone, so I stare behind her. I stare at one of the many flags that litter the walls. I stare at the corner of the auditorium. Anywhere but her.

"Okay," I say. "I'm gone." As I start to leave, I feel her grip on my wrist again.

"Just one more thing," she says. "Why did you do it to me?"

This is the one question that I've never been prepared for. Half the time, I wasn't even aware that I was being rude, and right now I'm positive that she won't want to hear that from me. All I know is that I'm thinking too hard.

I close my eyes and let my body talk for me, because for once I _want _the impulsive side to tell her how I really feel, no matter how much I'll regret it later.

"Because," I breathe, "I wanted to get you to notice me. I wanted you to see me and think of me as someone important in your life, whether or not it was a positive or negative influence. I _selfishly _believed that you would warm up to me after a while, when it was clear to me that I wasn't doing anything to make you like me at all. I was only pushing you away. I did it because I like you, and I was willing to make you hate me in order for you to pay attention to me at all."

Her eyes widen. Those honey, melting eyes that pierce into my soul. "Fang," she says, that tone of voice that I know all too well. It's the tone of rejection. _Fang, I'm dating Dylan. _I can't hear it, though. Not right now, not right in front of the Pit while we stand in the heart of the school. I know that I do, though.

"I won't bother you again," I say, and I mean it. I don't think I've ever talked this much in my life. "But can I just finalize it? Can you properly reject me?"

She's still shaken down to the bone, her eyes glazed over in surprise. I don't want to repeat it.

My eyes close, waiting for the same rejection tone.

But instead, she kisses me, a hungry and passionate kiss. A kiss that means _I'm sorry, _and one that has every word in the entire world in it. My mouth moves with hers in response, and a fire courses through my body, something that feels so fucking good, something that I've waited forever to get. My hand reaches into her ashen hair, and I work my fingers through the small knots at the base of her skull, loving the way it feels in my hands.

The bell rings, and when we break apart, we're both breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes like we'll forget everything about each other if we don't spend these few moments remembering it all.

"You're beautiful," I say, "I'm not a liar who just wants to feel better about himself anymore."

She bites her lip, and I can tell that I've entirely misunderstood the kiss. the _I'm sorry _kiss, one that means that _I won't ever deal with you again. _

"What the fuck, man?" I hear, and then a fist collides with my temple. I'm disoriented as I fall to my knees, watching black spots dance over my eyes while I see who hit me. Dylan stands above me with scraped knuckles. "Don't you fucking touch my girl," he says, just before I faint.

_I get it, _I think as I'm falling, _I can touch your hand, but not your heart. _

* * *

***Laughs* I'm sorry. It's just, this is totally how the first couple Maximum Ride books are like, and it's so funny to see it modernized into something like this. What did you guys think? Reviews are greatly appreciated! **

**-SociallyObscene**


	2. Chapter 2

**IT'S BEEN A WHILE! That was not meant to be an all caps rage, but I kind of like it, so what the hell. I'll do what I want *puts on shades of responsibility* Thank you for all of those reviews! Honestly, I was just annoyed when I wrote that chapter, so I'm sorry because I couldn't quite get the same feeling to the last one. This one feels more docile to me, but with kind of the same edge.**

**Disclaimer: AHAHAAHAHA NO. I could not write something as beautiful as Maximum Ride, so therefore it isn't mine. D:**

* * *

"Oh, shit." I sit up abruptly, not particularly noticing my surroundings as my eyes get fuzzier and fuzzier while looking around. I close them tightly, letting out a cool breath as the ringing in my ears starts again. "Fuck."

This is the second time this has happened, where I've woken abruptly with a painful jolt, muscles screaming for help, and my brain telling me over and over again:

_Wow, you really fucked it up this time._

I don't remember what happened the first time I woke up, and honestly, I still wish I don't know what happened, because each time I think about it, I just remember how _stupid _I am for doing that. How _horrible _I am. And typically, that's all I _do _think about, because my head starts hurting far too much for brain comprehension.

There was no concussion, just a black eye, and Dylan was suspended for a few days, but there's no way that'll fix my pride at all. Dylan's like a hero now, and I'm once again just the quiet and secretly impulsive freak that fucks up everything he touches.

Okay, I know. Dramatic again, but I can't really help myself when the only thing on in the nurses's office is Ms. Kosminsky's telenovelas.

This time, there's someone sitting next to me on the back corner of the bed. Her ashen hair is like squiggles, her eyes shaking in front of my vision. I sat up too fast, and I'm starting to regret that as nausea pours over me.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

My hands reach my sticky face, probably plastered with sweat, and I run my fingers through my limp hair, getting a hold of my senses. When I see her, I groan.

"What the fuck, why are you here?" I ask, my tone ice and my glare fire. Before she can change her expression, I say, "If you dare to look at me with _any _sort of pity, I won't even _want _to talk to you."

Nonetheless, she gives me the look. The pity look, where your eyes start to look watery and your eyebrows curve like a puppy's that's been kicked too many times, where I lose any two shits that I gave about you before you made that look. I hate that look. I've seen it too many times.

"I'm sorry." Her voice is brittle and low, and she twiddles her thumbs in between her thighs without meeting my gaze.

"Okay, then, Max. Well, I'm sorry, too." She looks up at me for a moment, asking me to continue. "I'm sorry that I did those things to you, and would be rude to you. I'm sorry that I'm in this goddamn nurse's office smelling the antiseptic and feeling suffocated in the white walls, and I'm sorry that Dylan caught us. But I'm _not _sorry about one thing."

She gives me the look harder.

"I'm not sorry that I kissed you back. Okay? So just leave me the fuck alone right now. I don't want the girl I like to see me when I've just lost a fight." When did the lights get brighter, the walls whiter? I drape an arm over my eyes and start to lean back down, hating the way the sheets fold underneath me, and the way the blanket feels heavy and thick on my chest. I'm so fucking weak.

"Well," Max says, and her tone is a bit lighter, "I'm kind of a bitch to you anyway."

"Likewise." I swallow thickly. I think I'm almost at my word count for today. "And Max-"

"Yeah?" She interrupts, hoping that I'll ask her a question. I just don't know what it is. Maybe if I knew what it was, I wouldn't be so deep in my own shit that I'm used to it already. But I don't know what it is. And I don't think she'll find out what I'm supposed to be asking her.

"I still need you to reject me," I say, and a thought comes to my mind. "Don't kiss me this time, I don't need brain damage from your golden boy."

She laughs, but it's shaky and quavering, like she's wanting to say something but doesn't have the resolve to do it. Her hands twitch and her feet tap on the floor in an erratic rhythm, like she's wanting to run away, and I can't really blame her. I look like shit, I've acted like shit, and I'm pretty almost shit myself. I need the shower, I know it.

"I'm sorry that I can't reciprocate your feelings," she says, and I know that she's forcing it out of her strangled lips, like she doesn't want to hurt me, but it's absolute. Although I've been rejected, I start to laugh, a jittery laugh that's entirely nasal and unattractive.

"Sorry, sorry," I say, putting up the other hand that isn't blocking the light. "I just can't believe you used the word _reciprocate _to reject me," I say wheezily between laughs, waving at her again and again in dismissal. I take the other hand off my face, and I only laugh harder as I see her face, blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. My head starts throbbing, but I don't really care. It's just too funny, for some reason. Maybe I was hit a little too hard.

"Shut up!" She says, and then walks out of the room, leaving me with the curtains open and the lights on.

"Look at me," I say, running my hand over the rough surface of my comforter, "Fang Walker, the guy who'd rather laugh at the girl he likes and never face her again than get some balls and win her over. Look. At. Me. I'm pathetic. At least I won't talk again."

And for the second time that day, I groan, burying myself with the pristine pillows and crumbled blankets.

If only I knew she'd been listening.

* * *

It's been a week since I've spoken to Maximum Ride.

There are times when I sneak looks at her in the hallway, or just find pictures of her from the school newspaper, or something else. I don't think I've ever been so aware of someone, and I don't think that I've ever been so annoyed at myself, either. I'm such a fucking idiot.

I suppose the bully has become the bullied, and I can't help but think how reversed it is as someone starts to jeer at me for the second time since I came back to school. Dylan's back, too, and I seem to have this Dylan-radar that lets me know when he's by me. I don't need to be looking, I just need to feel the hair rise on the back of my neck to know that he's glaring at me from some direction, somewhere.

_I'm just not going to talk, _I tell myself, shifting my weight on my backpack. My eyes are red, and it's not because I've been crying, but it's because I stayed up all night watching one of the telenovelas from the nurse's office, _¿Dónde está Maria? _My friends ditched me, I suppose, and I'm not back in the game at all. It's so fucking frustrating, because now I'm spending nights alone.

"How are you?" The server asks me. I put my coins in her outstretched palm, my lunch in the one hand. She takes a look at my healing black eye, and to be honest, she's the only one who has talked to me all week. I want to tell her a lot of things, and I feel the words starting to crawl out of my mouth until I bite down on my jaw, hard, getting the taste of impulsivity out of my mouth.

"Better." It's only one word, but she smiles, because it's the first word that she's gotten out of me. There's snickering behind me, the kind of childish snickering that makes you want to punch a wall and tell everyone to grow up, but I ignore it and choose for walking to the library to eat.

Lunch is easy. It's just eating, something that I'm good at, something that I've always been good at. And now, it's the easiest fucking thing in the world, something that I don't even have to try to do. I don't have to watch what I'm eating, or eat too much, depending on who I'm sitting with at lunch. I can just do what I want, without worrying about people talking to me.

"Oh, how are you, dear?" I hear the librarian ask. Probably a stray student, or someone that doesn't have A lunch.

"I'm fine, thank you for asking, Mrs. Hall." I flinch. Of course it would be Max. Immediately, I stand, grabbing my tray and starting to move out the door and into the Commons, but Max has noticed me even before I stood up. She knew I was there all along, and it's obvious by how she's sneaking glances at me now and then. Each time our eyes meet, I stare, challenging her to keep looking, but there's a part of me that wants to get lost in her honey eyes, to drown in them and never worry.

However, I'm more pissed than in love at the moment, and my glare isn't as strong when I have an eye that's always squinting. I get up and lift my backpack over my shoulders and start to walk away, the weight becoming heavier and heavier, like bricks are being added onto my shoulders with every step I take.

And for some reason, some unbeknownst reason that I would actually really like to murder, I take a look back, just to see if Max is watching me walk away, and she's not. She's not at all, because why would she? I'm just another guy that she's rejected.

* * *

"Hey, it's lover boy!" Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. _Fuck. _I start to speed up. _Come on, school's over, give me a break! _I think, twisting around corners of the school, navigating my way to one of the back exits that lead to the bus stops, but he's fast, and my chest hurts from the bruising he's done to my ribs. I can't even see all that well, either.

Dylan grabs a fistful of my hair, stopping me abruptly, his hand clamped around my neck. For a moment I try to worm my way out of his grip, but my head is on fire and is screaming with protest with each jerk my body gives. My throat starts to clench and feels constricted.

"Tell me what you want from me," I gasp, gulping in the precious air.

"Don't come to school, or face this every day."

"Hm," I pause, starting to think. Dots start dancing over my field of vision, and I tell them to go away in my head incessantly."How about no?" I spit at him, a stream that hits him in the face. He jolts for a moment, only for a split second, but it's enough time for me to wrench myself out of his grip and kick him in balls. A low blow, I know, and he winces as I hit him. He's paralyzed for only a moment, but I grab my bag and start to run, faster than I did before.

Even if he won't get up for a moment, I can't waste any time. For just a moment, my head turns to look behind me, hoping that he's out of my sight, but the absence of his presence is more disconcerting than the large body that is the alternative. When I whip my head back, I bump right into something.

_Someone._

"Oh, sorry," I mutter, looking behind me quickly with paranoid eyes, not noticing who I had hit in the first place. "Shit," I start repeating over and over again under my breath, but I'm positive that this person has already figured out what's going on.

"Come." I look up just in time to find the owner of this modulated voice, and it's someone that I haven't seen in a long time.

He looks the same, even with the pained expression that seems to have molded over his far more pleasant grin that used to be plastered on his face. He seems longer, his arms and legs spidery and his hair wispier, his torso skinnier and eyes paler, if possible.

He seems to navigate purposefully and with ease, and we end up at one of the many janitor's closets. He doesn't think to turn the light on, so we're in utter darkness for a split moment, both of our breaths labored and our fingers entangled with each others. Finally, when my breath comes back and my eyes focus, I let go of his crushing grip and turn on the light to the closet.

"Thanks." Another one worded response. I'm not tired, just unwilling.

"Fang?" He asks, and I smile. Although we haven't spoken since primary school, he remembers.

"Yeah, Ig, it's me," I say, but I don't quite understand how he couldn't have known. I search his features for an answer, and find that his eyes, paler, are glazed over and are unseeing, lacking purpose as they gaze at my ear, not my eyes. _Blind._

Iggy gives a crooked grin, but his teeth are straighter. It doesn't work as well, and seems forced. "Do girls still fawn over you?" He asks.

"Do you still _want _girls to fawn over you?" I retort.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Smart, aren't you?" I ask, and start to sink as my back pushes against the wall of the closet, narrowly missing the cart full of chemicals and the duster that is blacker and dirtier than my hair. _That's disgusting._

"How'd you get in?" I finally ask, giving the room a clean sweep. It's dull and bleak, but at the same time looks newer and more used. This closet is older, and not a lot of janitors use it anymore.

"Ask yourself that again, you're a smart kid," Iggy says, picking at his cuticles and trying to look bored, but I know that he's just as excited as I am.

"You picked the lock, didn't you, but you did it before I came, because you were taking the chemicals and building a bomb. Of _course._"

Finally, Iggy laughs, and it's real this time, warmer. "Some things never change."

We start talking for a bit more, remembering times from primary school, joking about the things that happened. We talk about our old friends, and we talk about Iggy's bombs, but it feels like it's taboo to talk about Dylan.

"You're probably wondering how this happened, huh?" Iggy says, pointing to his glazed eyes. He must have noticed that I was staring at them. I don't say anything. "It's not something too difficult to talk about. It was just a bad chemical reaction that didn't react until I was certain it wouldn't, when my goggles were off, and I was peering at the tube. That's also why this exists," he says, pulling up his upper lip to reveal sores and blisters, "And this." He points to the cut on his lip that seems old, but also festering.

"You're a naughty little pyromaniac," I observe.

"Yeah but I'm fucking sexy, aren't I?" Iggy teases, attempting to be seductive while caressing his torso.

We're silent for a moment, and then a few minutes, but it's not the awkward silence that makes you want to do something homicidal to the person who isn't talking, but it's comfortable. Maybe it's because Iggy can't see how stupid I look, and that he can't see my black eye, or the handprint around my neck.

It's been another ten minutes when I say, "I think Dylan's gone," I say. "Thanks."

"Hey, wanna get something to eat?" Iggy asks, but I blush as I think about my goddamn car.

"Nah, I've got work at the City Market."

* * *

**Well! That was a bit longer, kind of as compensation for all the time I made you guys wait. I'm trying to be more regular with my updates from now on, so expect a lot more from me! **

_-SOCIALLYOBSCENE_


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